


i’ll keep my hands to myself, or won’t i

by intoxicatelou



Series: an invitation to a modest breakfast [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Banter, Blow Jobs, Cock Slut, College Student Peter Parker, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/pseuds/intoxicatelou
Summary: Peter and Tony have breakfast in bed.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: an invitation to a modest breakfast [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014243
Comments: 2
Kudos: 144





	i’ll keep my hands to myself, or won’t i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



> A sequel to **[ "we could play a game where we let the breakfast melt"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433651) **
> 
> dearest toucan, im trying to say something insightful here, but really. my hand slipped (again) because you're sweet to me, best fiend. and somehow, that is really, really inspiring to my porn id <3 we all win? hopefully? *hugs*
> 
> Title is a play off another line from the poem [ "Your Invitation to a Modest Breakfast"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56059/your-invitation-to-a-modest-breakfast) by Hannah Gamble.

They stay in bed. Not that Peter can imagine moving, his ass still a little raw and pink against the sheets, and with a bit of petulant pouting he’d succeeded in forcing Tony to be the one to stumble off and grab a washcloth and clean them both up. 

The sheets were beyond saving but luckily the bed was big enough so Peter could wrap himself in Tony’s arms on a relatively clean patch of mattress. He knows Tony’s watching him, can feel those warm fingers still combing through his hair, in the surprisingly gentle aftermath to what they’d done together. Peter’s too tired to think about it too much, even though usually his brain would begin to psychoanalyze, loop through the possibilities of  _ is this a friendly hair pet or a romantic touch ? Is spanking like the fifth base? Does he love me or love me not?  _

But instead of obsessing, the intensity of their ‘scene’ (if Peter can even call it that, considering they hadn’t really talked about it before diving in...) sinks into his bones. Peter tries and struggles to keep his eyes awake for a few minutes before giving in to the lullaby of Tony’s steady pulse.

**—**

The next time Peter wakes up, it’s to the intoxicating smell of salt and sugar drifting into the room. 

“ _ Breakfast _ ,” Peter says, still groggy, as he blinks into the afternoon sun slicing through the window and onto his face. He’s barely spoken before Tony’s by his side, wearing a black silk robe and handing him a tall glass of water. 

“Hydrate or Diedrate.” Peter mumbles, through the sleep fuzz of his brain as he finishes the glass with a sigh.

Tony gives Peter a quizzical look. 

“Oh. Um. It’s a meme?” Peter says, more questioning than anything, and a little embarrassed. “Sorry it’s just MJ would say it all the time when we were together -- not that we were like  _ together  _ \-- but like you know, when we were hanging out -- like, actually hanging out -- movies and stuff -- like friends, we’re friends,” Peter stutters out, thoughts still a little dazed and clearly a master at making matters worse. God, he doesn’t know why he even brought up MJ. Sure he’d had one ill-timed crush and they’d kissed like  _ once _ , before MJ had figured out pretty quickly she wasn’t actually into Peter like that, or in fact any man, and that Kristen Stewart might as well be the love of her life, but again, it’s not like any of that stuff is something he should be spilling out to his hot older billionaire mentor, Tony Stark. 

“Isn’t that the girl you went to prom with?” Tony asks, and Peter nods hesitantly. 

“She’s pretty,” Tony says, evenly, and Peter wants to believe his mentor sounds relieved when he adds, “But thanks for clarifying, kid.”

“You’re prettier,” Peter blurts out, because… well, he doesn’t know, it’s just  _ true  _ and he’s trying, “Like. Really. I mean. You’re nice to look at.”

“What, lil ole me?” Tony says, shaking his head, but his expression is unbearably fond. “Come on, I’m just a cranky old man.” 

“You’re not  _ that  _ old,” Peter says, surprisingly firm. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s actually kind of hot, you know, the idea of you going grey  **—** ”

“ _ Kid _ ,” Tony sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and Peter’s fingers grip the sheets. Maybe he was a little too honest. Maybe they weren’t there yet. 

But before Peter can open his mouth to apologize, his stomach rumbles loudly. 

_ So sexy, Peter, honestly, great job,  _ Peter thinks, blushing in embarrassment as he clutches at his stomach. 

“To pick up where we left off earlier this morning,” Tony says, giving Peter a wry smile. “I wasn’t kidding about breakfast, but since you’re so insistent on staying in bed…”

Peter blinks, turning to see where Tony was gesturing to and sure enough on the other corner of the bed was an entire breakfast platter. Peter doesn’t even wait before crawling over to look at the spread of food, there was pancakes, waffles, fruits of every kind, croissants, a small chocolate fountain, and sure enough delicate bowls of ice cream all propped up on glass tables, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, and some other colors that made Peter’s senses sing. 

“I didn’t know you could get room service in your own bedroom,” Peter says, moaning around a slice of fresh strawberry and letting it dissolve in his mouth. It was just the perfect kind of sweetness. 

“You’d be surprised at the things I can get away with, kid” Tony says, something darkly humorous in his voice that made a shiver run down Peter’s spine. He shouldn’t find it  _ this  _ hot, the power that the other man exudes, there’s something definitely wrong with him, but fuck does it make Peter’s stomach twist, his thighs shift just that bit closer. It isn’t the first time Tony’s said something like that, Peter’s been around long enough to go to the galas, to be gifted suits, to be dined and wined in a way that  _ was  _ always a little more than friendly, if he’s being honest, but it’s the first time that maybe, just maybe, Peter could give in to the feeling, that shudder spark slip of control. 

“Yeah?” Peter says instead, a little breathy and this time he turns around and meets Tony’s eyes as he lets his lips close around the strawberry. 

“You haven’t even tried the ice cream,” Tony says, avoiding the question but his eyes are dark and he’s moving closer, walking up to slide next to Peter on the bed. He grabs a bowl off the table and a tiny spoon, and Peter leans into him, letting the sheets slide down his body, showing himself bare again. 

When Peter sucks the spoon of cold, sweet, dessert into his mouth, he’s sure to hollow his cheeks, his eyes unflinching as Tony’s hand shakes, just the slightest bit, at the image he presents. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tony asks, but his voice is gravel rough and his left hand is untying his silk robe which is just as soft as Peter imagines it to be, the cloth falling open and brushing against Peter’s arm. He’s already half hard and Peter’s mouth  _ waters _ . 

“I am,  _ Mr. Stark _ ,” and the name slips out on accident, on instinct, and Tony’s eyes widen, his fingers holding the spoon letting it clatter to the floor and then there’s a hand underneath Peter’s chin, pulling his face up. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” Tony murmurs, and Peter’s mouth falls open as the older man’s thumb brushes at his bottom lip, pressing into the plush of it. 

“Show me,” Peter whispers back, and he’s drooling now, actually, all over Tony’s thumb, sucking it into his mouth, fellating it like it’s just as good as Tony’s cock, though it isn’t, not even close, but Peter knows he has to earn it. 

“Such an insatiable slut,” Tony mumbles, sharp and just a little underneath his breath, but Peter with his supersenses, hears it like it’s whispered straight into his ear, like it’s hot wax melting right down his chest, making his eyes water around Tony’s thumb. 

_ Slut  _ another word he hadn’t considered to be beholden to, something straight out of the porn he’s a little too shy to admit he actually watches, and yet, here Peter was, absolutely gagging for it. 

But being with Tony Stark was like that, if the last twenty four hours were anything to go by. Peter felt like he’d quite literally walked into every single one of his teenage fantasies. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Tony asks, a little louder, and then the thumb’s being dragged out of Peter’s mouth, down and down to press against the curve of Peter’s throat, his back arching with the motion. 

“I do, I really  **—** _ Tony _ .” Peter stutters out and Tony looks at him, calculating, as if he’s mentally capturing the photograph Peter makes like this, disheveled on the bed, lips still a little pink from the strawberry ice cream. 

Peter blinks and then he’s being manhandled to his knees, on the too soft, definitely expensive rug, and Tony’s sitting down on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs and fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ It’s happening, it’s really happening. 

“C’mere Pete,” Tony commands softly and Peter goes, tilting his neck up for the kiss Tony’s ready to give him, mouth sweet, gentle, that Peter gets a little lost in it, almost forgetting why he’s on his knees to begin with. 

“Can I feed you my cock, angel?” Tony asks, the question almost innocent against Peter’s mouth. It feels sacred the way Tony’s lips move as they call him  _ angel,  _ as if Peter could ever dream of being so holy. 

“Y-Yeah,” Peter breathes, dizzying his tongue over Tony’s bottom lip. 

“So pretty, so good for me. Absolutely perfect.” Tony repeats, pulling back from the kiss to rub a warm hand over Peter’s face and Peter nuzzles into the touch, almost cat-like. The praise shimmers over his skin before sinking in, making his cock twitch and leak against his stomach. 

“Go on then,” Tony says, a loose hand staying in Peter’s hair guiding him a little closer to his cock. 

Peter swallows and then his slightly sweaty hands are reaching forward to hold Tony’s cock, his mouth stretching to fit the tip in his mouth. 

“Such a pretty slut for me,” Tony coos, and Peter’s cock aches heavy between his own legs as Tony’s finger traces his cheekbones. 

It’s a hard fit, Tony’s big, and Peter knows, remembers, how it feels to be filled like this from the inside, but in his mouth, the feeling is magnified tenfold, his jaw aching as he widens his mouth to fit even just the head inside. 

Tony tastes clean, like he’s had another shower when Peter was sleeping after their second round, which he probably did, and it makes Peter feel even more filthy, even more hot, thinking about how dirty and disheveled he is and looks as he begins to suckle at the head of Tony’s cock. 

He hears Tony’s groan the same time he licks up the salty tang of precome, and then he’s slipping a little more down Tony’s cock, breathing in like the articles told him to, and  _ come on Peter, you can do this, you’re Spider-man, you did your research, make it happen, Parker,  _ he doesn’t stop, just goes, and goes and he feels Tony’s hand tighten in his hair. 

“K-Kid, Peter, what are you - you don’t -” Tony stumbles over his words in surprise but Peter hums in disagreement and Tony chokes as Peter swallows the rest of him down, his nose breathing in the smell of skin, soap, and Tony’s natural musk. 

His throat aches pleasantly, and he’s still breathing somehow, even with his eyes watering and then just as it’s started, it’s over, Tony’s fingers pulling him off his cock by his hair, and when the cock slides out of his mouth, Peter actually _ whines.  _

“ _ Tony,”  _ Peter pouts, but a moment later he’s gasping at Tony’s hand on his cock, touching him finally, and Tony’s mouth back on his own, tongue sliding in, tracing the roof of Peter’s mouth, every ridge like he wants to taste himself, even though Peter had barely spent any actual time on his knees. 

Peter’s hips fuck up into Tony’s tight fist, his orgasm fizzling to the surface suddenly, he’s so  _ close _ . 

But Peter doesn’t want to come. Not yet, not when Tony’s still hard and Peter can remember the drunk delirious feeling of a cock in his mouth, he wants more. 

He accidentally uses his super strength a little to stop Tony’s wrist, gripping the fine bones just fine enough to bruise, and Tony bites Peter’s lower lip, cursing. 

Peter’s groans at the pain, hips chasing friction, but he stills himself, forces himself to pull away from Tony’s mouth and beg for what he really wants. 

“I don’t - Not yet, please.” Peter says, worrying at his already tender bottom lip. “I really liked that, but I want…”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Tony asks, wondrously gentle. “I’ll give you anything.” 

_ I want you _ ,  _ just you, all to myself, for every day for the rest of my life,  _ Peter’s heart thinks, skipping a beat at the fever in Tony’s words. 

And maybe in another universe, Peter could ask that of Tony. But they weren’t there yet. Not yet. 

This was sex, like amazing tender hot life changing sex, but again, it was just that. Sex. Bodies unfolding into each other, beautiful and mesmerizing. 

So instead, Peter bites his lip, and looks up Tony through his eyelashes, before asking quietly, “Please fuck my face, Mr. Stark.” 

“You’re killing me, baby, you’re killing me.” Tony mutters, but his eyes are shining as he pumps his cock a couple times. 

“Please,  _ please _ .” 

“Alright, sweetheart, I know, I know. You don’t have to beg. Not today.” Tony says, soothingly, letting his fingers scritch against Peter’s scalp, card gently through his curls. Peter shivers at the idea,  _ you don’t have to beg. Not Today.  _

_ But one day, one day I could beg. I could get on my knees and ask you to be everything to me.  _ Peter thinks abstractly, but then Tony’s cock is in front of him, and his jaw is open and his throat is full and Tony’s hips are moving, thrusting up gently at first. 

It makes Peter moan, the longer it goes on, Tony’s hips running sharp staccato beats than turn erratic as Peter continues to drool, gagging a little at times before going right back to it, spit and tears everywhere as he looks up at Tony, reverent, hopeful, so in love it makes his chest hiccup. 

Peter’s expecting his gaze to be unrequited, but Tony’s staring back, and there’s something just as heavy in his eyes, brown eyes blown wide with desire and the feeling Peter’s too afraid to name, but maybe he shouldn’t be. 

“I’m going to come,” Tony says, desperate, his hips moving fast, hitting that spot in Peter’s throat that makes his toes curl surprisingly. “Fuck, you’re so - Peter -  _ Peter _ ” 

Peter just laxes his throat even more, the tears flowing freely as he moans around Tony’s cock, as if to say,  _ give it to me, give me everything you are  _ **—**

“ _ I love you, kid, _ ” Tony whispers hotly, shuddering and secret but then it isn’t anymore because he's coming, hot and wet down Peter’s throat. 

And Peter’s cock is jerking in sync, untouched, spilling all over the fancy rug and his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Tony says, sounding wrecked as he pulls his cock from Peter’s mouth, and Peter swallows what he can, but some of it spills out, falling down his chin, making a mess. He can’t believe his ears, the words,  _ Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou  _ dialing on loop in his mind, wondering how true they’d been, if it’d been just sex, but no, Tony had looked at him, like  _ really  _ looked at him, and that had to mean something, it just had to  **—**

“Let’s go to bed, Pete. ” 

Peter hardly notices, still dazed from his own orgasm and the confession, as Tony leans to scoop him up and lay him down on the bed, peppering soft kisses over his shoulders, over his neck, gently coaxing Peter back into his body after what truly was a stunning, unexpected orgasm. 

It takes Peter a second to realize Tony’s murmuring things, whispering sweet nothings underneath his jaw, to his collarbone, to the dimple of his throat. 

“You’re perfect, so sweet, absolutely everything.” 

“M’not.” Peter protests, finally, language catching up to him again. He blushes, imagining what he must look like right now, come cooling on his stomach, his chest. “I’m a mess.” 

“If you are, then you’re the sweetest mess. Most beautiful.” Tony responds, and then he’s kissing Peter on the mouth, languid and heady, before breaking the kiss with a grin. “Look, I’ll prove my point.” 

“What?” Peter says, but his eyes are still closed and somehow he’s half asleep already, muscles sinking pleasantly into the mattress, even though he should stay awake, because they should talk right? After what Tony said before coming into his mouth, that’s something people should talk about, it wasn’t just a sex confession anymore, but… but… a  _ love  _ confession  **—**

“Ah!” Peter gasps, and he feels the cold before he sees it, blinking blurrily to see Tony spooning slightly goopy but still somehow cold vanilla ice cream onto his come stained chest, paying extra attention to cover his nipples, and then his mouth leaning down, never once breaking Peter’s gaze to follow the line of the sticky sweet, cleaning Peter up.

It’s hot and cold all at once, and Peter’s fingers are coming to wrap around Tony’s neck as he sucks on his nipples, teasing the nubs until they’re puffy and sticky from the dessert, biting at them intermittently to make Peter’s back arch off the bed, his cock somehow hard again against his stomach. 

It’s something straight out of a bad movie, having someone eat cold ice cream off his chest, but somehow with Tony, it feels so good, so natural, so ridiculously  _ them _ , that Peter can’t imagine coming without knowing, he just has to. 

“Did you mean what you said?” Peter asks, biting back a moan as Tony’s mouth dips lower, sucking a hickey into the tender skin of his ribcage. 

“That I love you?” Tony repeats, casually, and then bites at Peter’s skin again, another love mark blooming a little lower this time, closer to his hip. 

“ _ Tony, _ ” Peter chokes as Tony licks a line down to Peter’s right hip. “Are you serious? Because I-I’m serious, and I can’t -- I mean I could, if you wanted to -- pretend it didn’t happen --” Peter feels sick as he tries to get the words out, too much contrasting stimuli with seeing how close Tony’s head was to his cock and thinking that it’d just been a slip of tongue, that Tony hadn’t actually meant it. 

Tony freezes then, and stares at Peter, folding his arms on Peter’s stomach. “Wait, you don’t think I’m serious?”

“I mean,” Peter flounders, he never considered that Tony could be serious, it’s just, he’s  _ him  _ and Tony’s  _ Tony Stark  _ and that recent break-up and they’ve been friends for a while, but friends can still have sex, and like, remain just friends, it’s the twenty first century these kind of things were like,  _ normal  _ now, dating was weird. Which is why Peter blurts out, “I thought this was just a sex thing to you, right?” 

“Maybe for the first fifteen minutes you kissed me, but then no. Once my higher brain functions came online, it was definitely not  _ just  _ a sex thing.” Tony repeats, and he sounds more than a little miffed. 

“You...love me?” Peter asks again, because his brain was struggling to compute just when he’d missed things, because  _ holy fuck Tony Stark said it isn’t just a sex thing.  _

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” Tony says, and then he’s scooting up the bed to gentle pet his fingers through Peter’s hair again as he talks, “I don’t let just anyone pull me back to bed, you know.” 

“So… breakfast was...?”

“I was trying to ask you out on a date, yes.” Tony says, and he does look a little sheepish at that. “I know we did kind of everything backwards. I really did want to take you to dinner before never letting you leave my bed again.” 

Peter blinks, and then, he can’t help it, he giggles. And Tony snickers with him, and soon they’re laughing, tumbling into each other, lips eagerly catching on whatever skin they can find, and wow, how could Peter ever think it was  _ just  _ a sex thing? 

Tony woke him up with not just breakfast, but  _ ice cream  _ for breakfast in bed. 

“I love you so much, Peter,” Tony murmurs against Peter’s mouth, tasting faintly of vanilla and salt and truth, and Peter thinks it can’t get much sweeter than this. 

**—**

“Just wait till I take you to Paris. You have no idea, the chocolate there is… divine.” Tony tells him later, finally out of bed in the shower, because ice cream licking is only sexy for so long before it gets too sticky all over again. 

“Paris,” Peter repeats, blushing underneath the stream of hot water, letting Tony shampoo his hair. 

“If you can’t tell, I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth when it comes to you, kid.” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. 

Peter sighs into the touch. “I don’t mind,” he says, because it’s true. When it comes to Tony, Peter’s ravenous for everything nice, sugar or spice. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments, kudos, and screams welcome! <3


End file.
